I didn’t set out to be an artist. I set out to survive.

The music came because nothing else could hold what I was carrying—grief, love, becoming, and the particular ache of being a mother while still figuring out who you are.

I write songs the way I journal: honest, messy at first, and refined into something that can sit with you at 2am or carry you through a Tuesday.

Nine million streams later, I still write for the same person I was when I started—the one who needed to hear that her feelings made sense, that she wasn’t too much, and that rising was still possible.

That person might be you.